


From Christiania with love

by sweariwouldnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Christiania, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Louis is a police in training, M/M, Underage Drinking, Violence, and some excellent parenting, drugs as in weed, not excellent parenting, oh and they're Danish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:50:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/pseuds/sweariwouldnt
Summary: It's Louis' first field training day as a future police officer.It doesn't quite go to his plan.Or, maybe, it goes exactly to some bigger plan.





	From Christiania with love

**Author's Note:**

> I was so excited to get this prompt. It's not long ago I visited Christiania in Copenhagen, and I hope this fic does a little bit of justice to it. It's fascinating in so many ways, the place itself and the idea behind it. 
> 
> Christiania is a freetown in Copenhagen, Denmark - it began as a social experiment of a different kind of society in the 70s and through thick and thin, still exists today. More information can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freetown_Christiania). 
> 
> Thank you love you to my amazing beta who even fills in her duties whilst battling the brutal sea in the rain! You're the absolute best. 
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy this x

The wooden arch gate, with big capital letters saying CHRISTIANIA,  looks as the same it always has. Yet it feels like Louis is seeing it for the first time; what used to be a gateway to home, has never felt this unfamiliar. Maybe it’s because he’s not approaching it as a friend this time, not really. The baton he’s gripping, palms sweaty, is surprisingly heavy. The visor on is helmet is already moist from his sweat – funny how it’s cold sweat, on an unreasonably sunny and hot day. Almost like the universe is mocking him with its beauty; dressed up in his heavy, hot black riot gear, entering what should be a peaceful haven of all things good – as if the nature and world around him is trying its best to compensate for the dark mass approaching.

Right by the wooden gate, is a flag pole. The red flag with three big yellow circles keeps staring at Louis. It’s always reminded him of eyes; three yellow gleaming eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere. He could feel the stare, changing from disapproving to alluring to downright scary. Scary in the way they could tell things of Louis, and to Louis.

They haven’t entered the area yet, quietly forming on the street, with more police officers coming down from black unmarked vans. Louis can see the ‘You’re now leaving the EU’-sign near the arch gate, can smell the spicy sweet odour wafting from not very far, he can feel the bystanders gathering on the street across, phone cameras ready no doubt.

“You ready, Thomsen?” a quiet voice near him asks. The voice is muffled by a visor helmet, similar to what Louis is wearing. Louis doesn’t know the man’s name, he’s shit with names, and it’s only his first day in practical training on the field.

He nods to the man, regardless of feeling anything but ready and on the other hand, more ready than ever. This seems like another universal joke thrown at him, coming back to where it all really started, on his first day. He takes a deep breath, his exhale misting up the visor even more. Making a failed attempt to clear it with his sleeve – the fabric is too tough, too heavy-duty to wipe or soak in any moist – he sees the chief waving his hand, gathering their attention.

It’s time.

Louis holds the baton on his hand a little tighter, his fingers probably leaving imprints to the handle. His other hand is gripping the large shield in front of him.

The yellow flag eyes seem to stare Louis, getting more disapproving and shocked, the closer their group gets to the gate. They remember him, Louis suddenly is certain, they remember him and who he used to be. He lifts his other hand, the one with the shield, a little higher as if it could protect him from the eyes.

The black mass, with their visors down and shields up, batons still lowered but tightly gripped, and dog unit right behind them, crosses the gate and they’re in Christiania. Some people are scattered in front of the long brown brick building to their right – some are tourists, Louis can taste their confusion and fear, hear the steps they take back. There’s some locals, judged by the swearing that follows the police as they approach the main street a few metres away, Pusher Street.

A young man, pulling his hood down as he runs past the group of police towards Pusher Street, bellows out “RAID!”.

And here we go, Louis thinks, it’s so weird how much time he has to think in such a little time, fully focusing on the task at hand and his instincts sharper than ever before, yet his mind is going at lighting speed, completely irrational and irrelevant thoughts popping up at every corner of his brain.

Like what an idiot, that bloke. Don’t run, it causes panic – the first and most important rule of Christiania, _everyone knows_.

Then again, a police raid must be a fully valid reason of panic for many people. Louis can hear the yells form further away, the stomping of feet, one person’s running steps spreading into many more pairs.

They’re finally on Pusher Street, an eerily quiet street with currently abandoned and emptied drug stalls. Colourful bunting has been put up high between the marquees covering the stalls lining up both sides of the street. Walls of the brick buildings to Louis’ left are covered with graffiti. The street has been fully deserted in a matter of seconds since the raid-alarm. No piles of different kind of weed, no sellers standing behind them.

The first stone – or not really a stone, it’s the size of half a brick – comes from somewhere above. Louis sees it hit one of the police in front of the group, who is luckily quick to cover himself so the stone only hits the shield. Louis sees the surrounding officers turn around in puzzlement, with a few smaller rocks now hitting the front row.

“On the roof!” A bystander yells – it’s an elderly man, looking like his life has been long and rough, as he smokes his pipe on the side of the street. “Get those bastards!” he eggs the police on, raising his fist in a menacing wave, as if he’s telling off bratty kids.

A few officers separate from the group, running down an alley by the graffiti-covered building, having located the rioters up on its roof. Louis looks at them go, a choking feeling rising in his throat. Then he bumps into the back of a fellow officer who suddenly stops still.

They’ve come to a standstill, Louis realises, as he sees smoke starting to rise from the other end of Pusher Street. More stones start flying towards them, a small one hitting Louis’ visor. A crowd is approaching them with no fear, but with willingness to fight – the thirst for violence, Louis knows that look. They’re yelling about the police being nazi pigs.

A smaller group of the biggest officers run ahead, batons swinging as the rioting gang jumps on them. Louis barely gets out of the way of a flaming piece of log being thrown at them – he’s somewhere in the middle of the group of what was originally around 20 police officers.

A fucking gunshot is fired. Louis can’t see any of his colleagues fall down, but a chilling shriek from the other end of the street tells him someone’s been hurt. The gunshot spreads panic into the police as well, especially as it seems some rioters have caught up with them from two sides and they’re now surrounded back and front.

An officer nearby Louis swears creatively, lifting up his baton as a rioter jumps on him yelling, pushing him down. Another officer joins him, and Louis swears he can see a kick to the stomach. A proper scene breaks out next to him with other rioters attacking the policemen, who are fighting the man on the ground. In the front, rocks are still flying and the dogs are going insane with barking.

Louis sees an elderly lady on her Christiania bike, a three-wheeled cargo bike, with what looks like trees on the carrier in front, approach the scene. She seems to have no idea what is going on, as she tries to pass the group of men rolling in the ground. Louis watches, horrified, as a female police runs to the group and knocks the elderly lady off her bike, screaming at her, probably thinking she was a culprit in disguise. She hits her head and Louis can see blood spread on the concrete.

Everything around him is moving in fast forward, double or triple speed, but Louis is on slow motion, or even frozen. He looks around, the elderly lady still lying on the bare ground, holding her head with her fingers getting more red. There are small fires set to quite a few of the stalls surrounding the street. A police dog has caught someone who tried to ran away and is now drooling and biting all over his leg. A few younger kids, no more than ten year olds, are standing a bit further away, eyes the size of plates.

“Go home!” Louis yells at them, lifting his visor just enough so his words are clear. The kids freeze, until one of them throws Louis the middle finger followed by swearwords. They do sprint to run and leave the scene anyway.

“Cunts,” a police spits out next to Louis. “Should set the dogs on them. They’re little cunts now and they’ll grow up to be big cunts and in the next raid, they’re probably throwing grenades at us.”

Louis can’t find words, instead he finally seems to be able to move his limbs and he goes to the elderly lady, kneeling next to her. Her eyes seem spacey.

“Hello,” Louis says softly, lifting his visor fully and attempting a kind smile though he feels queasy. The lady tries to reach out for his hand, probably to sit up. “No no, you’re better off in a vertical position. I will get you help, just need to move you to a safer place…” Louis starts, starting to take the lady into his arms when the female police, who initially knocked her down, pushes Louis’ hands off.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She barks angrily.

“She’s a civilian! We need to help her,” Louis says desperately. The lady is looking at her, eyes rolling on her head.

The female police lets out a bored, dry laugh. “There are no civilians here. They’re scum. The quicker you learn that, the better,” she bends down and roughly yanks the lady up, pushing her towards her bike. “On you go!”

Louis feels like crying as he looks, frozen, the lady take her bike with slow motions. The man with the pipe comes to her aide, giving Lois a look.

Louis isn’t sure if it’s a thankful or a cursing look.

There are people on the ground, both rioters and police, and even the sun has gone hiding behind the clouds, casting a glum grey shadow on the street.

Everything around Louis is busy and buzzing and hazy and Louis will surely faint any minute now. He sighs, taking off his helmet, lowering his shield and baton. He doesn’t realise he has let them go until he hears a clank sound, as they hit the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” a voice yells at Louis.

Louis doesn’t get a chance to answer – he doesn’t _have_ an answer – when he sees a dog, not a police dog, panicking in the middle of the crowd, trying to weasel its way in the middle of the dozens of pairs of legs, clearly lost and unable to find his way. It’s squealing desperately, finally spotting a free hole and running to a side street. The dog is small, not even up to Louis’ knee, a black scruffy being with a blue bandana tied around its neck, and it’s breaking Louis heart. He doesn’t think, but  follows the dog who is now making small whimpering sounds.

“Hey doggy, good boy,” Louis says softly, trying to get the dog’s attention. “Or good girl. Good puppy,” he adds as an afterthought.

The dog stops, looking at Louis, letting out a bark that doesn’t sound quite as desperate.

“Come on, little friend, let’s get you to safety,” Louis tells the dog as he picks the dog up and taps its forehead cautiously. They look at each other for a moment, and Louis can very much relate to the lost look on the dog’s eyes.

An increasing havoc noise approaches and Louis holds the dog tighter in his arms, as three running youth hooligans bump into his back with force, but not hard enough for him to fall down.

“FLOYD!” A desperate yell comes through the aggressive mutter now echoing from the walls of the buildings surrounding the little side street Louis is in. “There you are!”

The dog on Louis’ lap starts wiggling its tail and lets out a happier bark, paws swinging frantically as it tries to get off Louis’ arms. Louis sees a pair of hands reach out to his arms, and the dog’s little pink tongue peeks out to give the other hand a lick. Louis’ brain seems to still be in a weird mood, noticing a dark spot on the skin on the person’s wrist, and it irritates him how it seems to be important for some reason but he can’t fathom why

“Thank you so, so much, I was so worried,” the owner of the hands tells Louis, sighing in relief. “We were just on a walk, when all the shit broke loose, and he got away from me and I couldn’t…” the voice carries on, eventually breaking as the dog is safely in its owner’s hold.

“No problem, glad I could help,” Louis turns to look at the owner, freezing as their eyes meet.

The owner, a boy the same age as Louis, has a small cut on his cheek. His brown, curly hair reaches just below his ears, and it’s frizzled and all over the place under a frilly blue headscarf he’s wrapped haphazardly around his head. He’s got a brown and yellow toned floral blouse which isn’t fashionable but more a hand-me-down, with cut-off brown velvet shorts that probably used to be flared pants.

The boy had met Louis with a thankful smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks – but Louis knows those dimples can be a lot deeper than they are now.

“Oh. You.” The boy, or, well, Harry, says flatly as recognition reaches him too. He looks at Louis from head to toe, making Louis painfully aware that despite ditching his riot gear, he is still wearing the police vest. Harry lets out a sigh, looking back to Louis’ face. “Figures.”

They stand in the most uncomfortable silence Louis has ever been involved in, Louis considering if he should just go back to the police squad and face whatever scene is currently happening, surely it’d be better than this.

“Well, uhm. Thanks for saving Floyd, I guess,” Harry says finally and turns away, squeezing his dog tighter in his arms.

“FUCK OFF SCUM!” A loud, deep voice yells and stops Harry from walking and Louis from watching Harry walk away.

A punker with a bright pink mohawk runs to Louis, kicking him right into his knee, followed by her two more friends.

One of them has a knife.

Louis is pretty sure peeing himself right now is neither here nor there, when he gets a dog shoved back to his arms.

“Hold Floyd,” Harry snaps and grabs out something from his back pocket. It seems to be a little bottle, Louis bets on tear gas. Harry waits until the thugs get just close enough, and then sprays at them. “Now fucking _run_!” Harry yells at Louis as he sprints off, leaving the three punkers coughing and kneeling. “And don’t drop Floyd!”  

Louis holds on to the dog, Floyd, as he runs after Harry. His first thought is that he’s an idiot for blindly trusting Harry, his second is to not fucking fall and if he does, go back first so the dog gets down unscathed. He only now realises how fucking heavy his police vest is, how much the sun – having made a comeback from behind the clouds – is drilling holes through the black thick material, and how fucking happy he is that police academy puts so much importance into physical exercise.

He’s barely keeping up with Harry, who surprisingly hasn’t bumped into anything yet, considering how much he keeps looking back at Louis and Floyd running behind him (and how the hell is he so quick?).

“I thought running creates panic!” Louis yells at Harry.

“I _am_ fucking panicked!” Harry yells, sounding out of breath.

They dash past the old abandoned army barracks, which have been covered in graffiti for decades now; hosting different galleries, bars, old squatter centrals. The brick-built central area of Christiania isn’t that big, just a few streets, and soon the scenery changes into quaint houses and gardens on gobbled streets. They run past the one especially funny looking house, which used to remind Louis of the Smurfs’ houses when he was a little – like a little white mushroom made into a house, round and small. The streets are deserted; no one wants to risk moving outside when yet another raid has turned riot.

Just before they get to the wooden bridge, connecting the main part of Christiania to the more marshland of residential areas, Harry stops.

“Bloody hell,” Harry breathes as he leans his hands to his knees, catching his breath. He coughs a few times, wiping sweat off his forehead and then standing up straight. “I can take Floyd now.”

Louis gives the dog a final scratch, thanked with a lick to his nose which makes him chuckle, and hands the dog back to Harry.

“Thanks,” Harry says, kissing Floyd’s head. “For, uhm, everything. Saving him. He panics really easily, he’s a rescue dog and he just… can’t take crowds. Aggressive crowds, especially.”

Louis nods. “Sure. Any time.”

Harry gives him a dubious look which Louis doesn’t feel like analysing right now. He clears his throat instead. “And, err, thank you too. For saving me, too.”

“Life for a life,” Harry shrugs and kisses Floyd again.

“Why’d you have tear gas on you?” Louis blurts out before thinking.

Harry looks at him again. “In case I might need it,” he says neutrally.

Louis nods. Understandable. “Thanks for using it on my benefit, anyway.”

Harry bites his lip. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“What for?” Louis is puzzled.

“I don’t know, tear gassing them? You’re a cop now, after all.” Harry sounds accusatory.

“That was self-defence. And I’m not a cop.”

Harry laughs dryly, gesturing at Louis’ attire. “No? What’s this then? Fancy dress party? Got a bit out of hand there, pal.”

“ _No,_ I mean, I’m… I’m in training.”

“To be a cop.”

“Well, yeah. It’s my first day on the field, today,” Louis lifts his chin. “Or was my first day, at least. I don’t know how they take abandoning your position in the middle of a crime scene,” he ponders out loud. He doesn’t want to listen to his own voice too carefully, how much regret or remorse or relief he might hear.

Harry opens his mouth like he wants to say something but then closes it. He looks at Louis, considering something quietly. Eventually he speaks. “Do you know where to go? Now, I mean.”

“I… No,” Louis realises. “I don’t.” He can’t really walk back to Pusher Street, or at least doesn’t want to. He doesn’t much care to be knifed or tear gassed or beaten, and he also can’t really walk back to his police station, and he definitely doesn’t want to go home. Or can’t, even. Getting out of Christiania right now unharmed seems like a very minimal possibility.

Harry sighs, and looks at Floyd. The dog is wagging its tail and they seem to have a brief silent conversation. “Fine,” Harry finally says and looks at Louis. “Floyd said I should take you to our place. Just until it’s safe for you to leave.” Harry looks like he has just lost a battle.

Louis smiles, leaning over to scratch Floyd. “Thanks Floyd, that’s very kind of you.”

“I didn’t have to agree, you know,” Harry mumbles.

Louis tries not to laugh. “Ok, thank you _both._ ”

“Come on then,” Harry sighs, trying to put Floyd down. He sits still like such a good boy, whilst Harry unties his headscarf and straightens it. He takes the other end and tries to tie it to Floyd’s collar, under his smart blue bandana, but Floyd starts whimpering and hopping against Harry’s legs. “Fine, you utter _baby_ ,” Harry says not unkindly as he lifts Floyd back up to his arms. “He really is a very good dog,” Harry tells Louis. “He’s just… a bit shaken today, I think.”

“Understandable,” Louis nods as he walks behind Harry as they enter the wooden bridge.

Louis hasn’t been on this bridge in… twelve years? It’s still squeaky, still smells like tar, still looks like a magical fairytale pathway to a jungle.

“You live on that side now?” Louis nods towards the more rural side of Christiania, separated from the more urban main area by a canal.

“Hmm,” Harry makes a non-committal sound.

“Okayy,” Louis drawls under his breath. So much for pleasant small talk.

The other side is green in a very different way from the other side; trees loom over quirky houses built here and there, different flower and berry bushes cheerfully outgrowing from behind fences and gardens, roaming free in a true hippie style, not wanting to be constricted.

They walk via the gravel path until they reach a small house, or a construction site barrack it really is. A bright green wooden fence surrounds the small garden, a seating group of brightly coloured mismatched chairs around a big table. The barrack is silvery colour as they tend to be, but has… grass growing on the roof. It’s lifted slightly above ground level, with stairs leading up to the blue-painted door. It seems additional windows have been incorporated into the barrack throughout the years. One of them is wide open, and though Louis’ first reaction is his police-side thinking how dangerous and burglar-enticing that is, it also feels very trusting towards your neighbours and community which, he guesses, Christiania can be as well.

“This is really nice,” Louis says honestly as he looks around.

Harry smiles cautiously. “It’s home. I love it,” he says happily as he puts Floyd down. The dog takes a few hops and then rolls around in the grass (which may or may not need cutting), then running off to his water bowl by the door.

“What happened to your dream of living in the Smurf house, though?” Louis queries.

Harry gives Louis a wistful look. “Not many of my childhood dreams came true, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, instead he busies himself with picking up a blackberry from a bush in Harry’s garden. “Delicious,” he says to fill the silence.

Harry fidgets his hands, having stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you… Would you like something? Coffee or something?”

“Coffee would be excellent,” Louis can practically taste it on his tongue. “Or… You mean like normal coffee, yeah?”

Harry lets out a humoured chuckle. “Yes, _normal_ coffee. Made in a coffee maker and all. Bought from a nice normal store. Even got milk.”

“Normal milk?” Louis winks.

“Organic,” Harry says and quips his eyebrow up, daring Louis to say anything.

“Organic is good.”

“Organic _oat milk_.”

 Louis bites his tongue. “My favourite.”

“Riiight,” Harry drawls out. “It’s sweet, though. Don’t need sugar.”

“Perfect.”

“It is.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Louis lifts his hands up in mock defence.

“But you _thought_ about something, I could hear it,” Harry says as he turns back to the door. Before opening it, his hand stops on the handle. “Uhm. It’s a bit messy, I… wasn’t expecting guests. You can wait outside if you want to.”

“Come on, it’s me. Messiest person in the world, eh?”

“It’s very small.”

“Harry,” Louis tries to sound encouraging, “I would really like to see your home. I’m sure it’s really cool. But if you don’t want me to see it, I totally understand. I can wait outside, it’s not a problem.”

Harry doesn’t say anything but eventually lowers the handle, opening the door and letting Louis in.

It is small but it is very comfy and… homey. Not in a frumpy way but in a good way, in such a way that Louis could easily imagine being cocooned safely here from the outside world.

To the left, there’s a small kitchenette with a little two-plate stove. A small foldable table is attached to the wall, with two foldable red chairs. Onto the right, is a proper bed – it’s built in as almost a cove, filled with pillows and colourful throws. There’s art everywhere, black and white photos mixed with colourful old band posters. A small bookshelf is hanging above the bed, and right in front of the door, is a vinyl player with stocks of albums on a self-made shelf of bricks and pieces of wood as shelves. The colour world is very soft, mellow tones of brown and black, yet it doesn’t feel suffocating or dim.

Louis spots not one but two food plates on the kitchenette floor first. Before he gets a chance to ask, he hears a meow.

A colourful cat, white with big spots of brown and orange in his back and head, is stretching on the bed. It hops down, stretching again with its bum up. The cat then makes its way to Harry, pushing against his leg and accepting a head scratch, before it comes to Louis, tail pointing up.

It looks a lot older and quite a bit chubbier than the last time Louis saw her, but her nose is still the loveliest colour of pink.

“Pink?” Louis questions softly as he kneels down, reaching his hand out and feeling warm in his chest as the cat brushes her head against Louis’ outreached hand. He then looks up at Harry, stunned. “You kept her?”

“Of course I did.” Harry smiles softly. “She never deserved to be abandoned. And she was the only thing I had left of you. Of course I took care of her,” he continues not unkindly – at least not unkindly to the cat.  

\--

_Life is pretty swell for Louis. He’s ten, it’s summer, he’s got the absolutely best very-best friend in the world, and since five days ago, he has become a cat owner._

_He and Harry found the cat in one of their favourite hiding places, a cellar under the theatre building. One had to sneak in there through a broken wooden floor board, and the hole was so tiny that you had to be very small to get through it. Definitely no adults would fit, it was for kids only, and Louis had never seen any other kids except him and Harry sneak in. His mum had told them to never go near the theatre without their parents, as adult-only things happened there._

_So of course he and Harry hung out there all the time._

_And five days ago, they’d found this little small cat, looking very scared and like it hadn’t eaten in a long time, with a piece of its ear missing. But it had been friendly to Harry and Louis, who had then wrapped the cat warm inside his cardigan and taken it home and miraculously, his mum had said he could keep it. He named it Pink. Because his nose was pink, and his mum’s favourite band was Pink Floyd and their music was always playing, and Louis loved his mum a lot. He also loved his little brother and his dad, though his dad wasn’t always home and lately if he was, he was a bit scary, talking about silly stuff that didn’t sound true. But his mum, Louis loved so much, and he loved his new cat Pink so so much as well and he definitely loved Harry very much._

_He and Harry had gone to the playground opposite the store where the old pirate-looking man would laugh and speak loudly and sometimes give them free candy. Louis had taken Pink with him, Harry had made her a braided collar out of pink yarn and a leash to match. It was Harry’s turn to hold Pink, who was making them laugh with trying to catch a fly buzzing around them._

_“Her nails are so small, doesn’t even hurt when she scratches,” Harry said, rubbing the bottom of his thumb with a small skin breakage._

_“She doesn’t do it on purpose though. She’s just so excited!” Louis said defensively._

_“I know, duh,” Harry rolled his eyes. “She’s the best. I want a cat, too.”_

_Louis laughed. “But you have two cats, already!”_

_“They’re not mine though, are they? Hochi and Mao belong to mum.” Harry looked a little sad but then seemed to cheer up. “When I grow up, I’m going to have so many cats. Will live in my own house and save every cat I ever see.”_

_Louis nodded. It was a brilliant idea. “Only cats though? What about other animals that need saving?”_

_“Dogs, too. And maybe a goat.”_

_Louis’ eyes widened. “I want a goat too! We could get it together? Then we’d both have a goat.”_

_Harry tapped his index finger on his lip, as if pondering. Louis felt uneasy, surely his suggestion was bloody brilliant, what did Harry need to think about?_

_Finally Harry broke into a grin, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “I’m kidding, come on. Of course we’ll get it together! It’s not like we’re not going to always be together anyway. You’re my best best friend.”_

_“You’re my best best friend, too.”_

_“I think I want to live in the Smurf house, with you and the cats and the dogs and the goat.”_

_“We need to have kids though. And be in love,” Louis turned serious. “Only people in love live together and they always have kids.”_

_Harry nodded. “Okay. I’ll be in love with you, then. You have to be in love with me back.”_

_“And have kids,” Louis nodded. He looked at Harry and then leaned in, giving a peck to Harry’s lips. “We need to kiss when we’re in love.”_

_“Okay,” Harry nodded again and leaned to Louis in turn, giving a big smack on his lips. “This is nice. I can’t wait to be in love with you and live in the Smurf house.”_

_Louis agreed wholeheartedly._

_Eventually it got dark, and they bid their farewell. They only lived four houses from each other, and as much as Louis liked his house, he was a little jealous of Harry as Harry was an only child and had a room all to himself, whereas Louis had to share with his little brother. Lukas was just five and so annoying._

_Louis walked into the kitchen, putting down some food on a plate and offering it to Pink, and only then realising the house was empty. It was weird, his mum was usually always home when it got dark and Louis came home. He waited by the kitchen table, played with Pink, thought about his future with Harry. It got even darker outside and Louis was hungry. He made himself a sandwich, sad to see the cheese had gone mouldy and smelled really bad, deciding that he and Harry would always have good cheese in their home._

_Louis went to lie down on the sofa,, waiting for his mum to come home. Finally, the door slammed open and his mum barged in, dragging Lukas behind her. She looked sad, eyes all red, sniffling._

_“Mum? Is everything ok?” Louis started hesitantly._

_“Get your stuff, Louis,” his mum said sharply. “We’re going.”_

_“Going where?” Louis was confused. It was too late to go anywhere._

_“The fuck away from this place,” his mum snapped. “We’re leaving, going away, now get your stuff so we can leave and never come back.”_

_Louis could feel panic rise in his chest. “Never come back? But…”_

_“No buts, Louis, please,” his mum said as she lit up a cigarette. “Pack what you want to take with you, one bag, and we’ll be leaving.”_

_“But where are we going?” Louis couldn’t understand._

_“We’re going to nan’s first, and then… I don’t know yet.” She sounded sad, frantically tapping her cigarette to the side of the ash tray._

_Louis turned to look at Pink. “We’re going on an adventure!”_

_“The cat isn’t coming.”_

_“What?”_

_“The cat isn’t coming! We won’t be taking the cat.”_

_“I can’t leave her.”_

_“Tough. We must go, the cat isn’t coming. Now go pack your fucking bag, Louis.” His mum usually never swore, and she looked equally shocked as Louis did at hearing the swearword._

_But it got Louis going. He ran to his room, looked around and decided he wouldn’t take anything with him; maybe that way he could convince his mum that Pink could come if he didn’t take anything else._

_When Louis went back to the living room, his mum was sitting on the sofa with one bag for herself, Lukas snoozing on her lap._

_“It’s really dark,” Louis started._

_“It is,” his mum nodded. She patted the sofa next to her, and Louis sat down. His mum put a hand around him. “We can go out this one time even if it’s this dark.”_

_“I need to go tell Harry,” Louis said carefully. “I probably won’t be able to see Harry tomorrow.”_

_“Oh love,” his mum petted his hair. “Honey. We won’t be living here anymore. We will not come back. You will get new, better friends.”_

_“No!” Louis shouted. “Harry’s my forever best best friend!”_

_“Louis, please.” His mum rubbed her nose. “We’re leaving. The cat is not coming with us. You can leave Harry a note, but we’re not going over anymore. This life is done now. We’re leaving this shit hole, my kids are not living here for one more second. Not going to turn out like…” she swallowed, “your dad.”_

_Oh right. “Is dad coming”_

_His mum let out an awful bark, a laugh that was not funny at all. “Your dad’s dead, Louis.”_

_“Dead?” Louis’ lower lip started trembling horribly and he couldn’t make it stop._

_“Dead. As a stone. Like the stoner he was. Never touch drugs, Louis.”_

_Louis got up, not saying a word – he felt like he couldn’t have even, with how much his mouth was quivering. He went back to his room, found a piece of paper and left a note to Harry, asking him to please take care of Pink and that he’d come back by the time they’d be in love and live in the Smurf house._

_Louis left Pink a plate full of food, another bowl of fresh water, and hugged her until his mum had told him four times it was time to leave._

_Then Louis followed his mum and little brother into the dark night, out of the gate and past the yellow eyes in the red flag. It felt like they were looking at him sadly._

**\--**

Louis can’t stop staring at Pink. “Thanks for taking care of her,” he finally manages, willing his voice to sound even.

“Of course. She’s the best cat,” Harry turns his back to Louis, busying himself with making coffee.

Louis watches Harry. His hair is less curly than when he had last seen him, or when they’d been kids, but it’s longer. Harry looks like he had grown suddenly, and hadn’t really caught up with his height, as he seems to crouch slightly – and the ceiling in this place isn’t especially low. His clothes are proper hippie, but then again Harry’s clothes had always been proper hippie, except for that one time he’d been a teenager and been proper emo.

“My mum always said your mum is a true hippie,” Louis mulls out loud.

“Your mum is probably right.”

“How is she?” Louis asks and then does a double-take. “Or, I mean, is she…?”

“Still alive. She’s doing great. She and dad live in our old house, still. Dad’s still running the restaurant. And doing gigs.”

Louis nods. Harry’s dad had an impressively deep, soulful voice, and his fingers knew their way around the guitar. “I’m glad. That they’re doing well.”

“Mum’s now leading this… interpretive theatre group. Still doesn’t allow me to get near the theatre, though,” Harry smiles.

“Did you perhaps try to interpret something?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t… I guess photography is more my kind of art. Don’t have to speak,” Harry gestures vaguely to the black and white photos on the walls.

Louis gets up from his chair, walking closer to have a proper look. “No fucking way. You took these?” He is mesmerised. The pictures – of people, animals, buildings, all the life and all the stillness in Christiania – were so simple, and yet seemed to say a million words, tell a thousand stories.

Harry nods, blushing. “It’s not… Just a hobby.”

“These are so good, Harry. You are really good. It’s like… they all tell stories.”

“This place has so many stories to tell. Just have to listen.”

“Not all stories are good, though,” Louis notes, with Harry’s expressionless face looking at him.

“Not all of them, no. But not all are bad, either,” Harry weighs in carefully. He takes the oat milk out of the fridge and pours a cup of coffee to Louis. “Let’s go outside, it’s such a nice day.”

Pink rushes past Louis and Louis manages to only spill a little coffee.

“This really _is_ good,” Louis admits after he’s taken a few sips of his coffee as they sit outside.

“Told you.”

“You could’ve lied.”

Harry harrumphs. “I’ve never lied to you. Ever. Not once.”

“I’m glad you didn’t start now,” Louis nods, unwilling to acknowledge the heaviness in Harry’s words.

They drink their coffees in silence for a moment, Floyd and Pink looking like a perfect picture as they doze off together on the grass.

“They seem to get along great.”

“They’re very best friends,” Harry says, smiling at the animals. Pink snores. “How’s your mum? And Lukas?”  

Louis almost chokes on his coffee. “They’re…. Well. Mum is good, I haven’t spoken to her in a while, and Lukas is… Good. He’s going to be a dad.”

Harry’s eyebrows rise up. “A dad? But, he’s like, what?”

“Seventeen.”

Harry whistles. “He’ll always be a baby to me.”

Louis remembered how over the moon Harry had been when Lukas had actually been a baby; Harry would sit next to his cot and stare at him for ages, to the point of Louis feeling jealous.

“I guess it’s not like a planned thing?”

Harry’s words bring Louis back to present day.

“Hell no,” Louis shakes his head. “The mum is a few years older. They haven’t been together for long. It was quite… A lot, when we first heard about it, but now it seems better. Lukas seems to have stood up for the occasion.”

“When’s the baby due?” Harry’s voice goes impossibly soft on the word ‘baby’.

“Not for another five months, I don’t think.” Louis notices Harry’s disappointed look. “I’m sure you can come visit once the baby’s here.”

Harry doesn’t look all that convinced. “Sure.” He stirs the spoon in his coffee. “And your mum?”

“Mum’s….” Louis is trying to find the right words. “Better. I guess she’s… happy with her new life. Or not really that new but like, what she made of our life after we left Christiania and Copenhagen. Very prim. Proper.”

“Ah,” Harry nods and something about the gesture annoys Louis. “Is that why you went on to become a cop?”

Louis scratches his jaw, trying to figure out what to say – he doesn’t want to listen to Harry bash _his_ life choices, but he doesn’t want to annoy Harry; Harry did have his reasons to feel uncertain about the police, most recent evidence just from today. That’s what the kids in Christiania were brought up to – thinking all police are swines.

A cheerful shout interrupts Louis’ thoughts.

“Hello hello hello!” A middle-aged man with an impressive ginger beard and an impressive beer belly, covered with only a black leather vest and some worn down jeans, is making his way into Harry’s garden.

Floyd gets up, happily running to the man, receiving friendly pets.

“Hi Hans,” Harry greets him with a big smile. “What brings me this joy?”

“Just came to check you’re alive and in one piece,” Hans says conversationally as he bends down to scratch Floyd. “Heard you were in the middle of the riot today. Very unlike you, my boy.”

“Floyd ran off,” Harry explains tiredly. “Had to run after him, I’d never be involved otherwise, you know that.”

Hans hums and gestures to Harry’s face. “See you got yourself a scratch, too.”

Harry touches the scar on his cheek. “Oh, this, forgot about it already. Nothing big. Just glad Floyd is okay.” Harry seems to suddenly remember Louis. “Oh! This is my… old friend, Louis. He was actually the one to save Floyd.”

“Nice to meet you,” Louis starts getting up from the chair, extending his hand to shake Hans’.

But Hans’ jolly face now has a vary, almost angry expression. “He’s a cop.”

Louis sits back down.

“Uhm. He’s not _that kind_ of a cop?” Harry offers unsurely.

“Pfft,” Hans spits on the ground. “They are all the same. All of them.”

“I’m not…” Louis starts but deems it best to shut it. Nothing he says would make a difference.

“I’m glad good Floyd is safe. I’ll leave you to it,” Hans musters some politeness and leaves, muttering under his breath about what absolute nazi cunts police were.

Harry looks at Louis sympathetically. “Sorry.”

Louis just shakes his head. “Guess he has a point. I can’t really go around wearing these,” he gestures at his black vest and trousers. The vest has POLITI written in large white letters on the back.

“I can lend you something?”

Louis bursts out laughing, unable to help himself.

Harry looks most displeased. “Right. Sure. You can also go around naked or carry on wearing what initially makes you a human target.”

“Sorry,” Louis wipes the corner of his eye. “I just… Don’t think your clothes will really fit me. Or suit me.”

“I do have _normal_ clothes as well, you know.”

“I’d be keen to see your idea of normal clothes, Harry.”

Harry flips his middle finger to Louis. “He saved your dog, he saved your dog,” Harry mutters under his breath as he gets up the stairs to his home.

A few minutes later, Harry comes back outside with a few pieces of admittedly unfrilly clothes. Louis takes a plain yellow t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, changing them inside. He makes use of the toilet, happy to see it’s a normal bathroom instead of something DIY.

“Fitting right in,” Harry says gleefully as Louis comes back inside. “Back to the roots and all that.”

“Don’t think my roots really stretch this far, not anymore.”

Harry frowns. “But this is where you’re from, Louis. Your formative years are from here. Ten years, that doesn’t get lost easily.”

“It does when it has to. When it’s made to get lost.”

Harry looks at Louis and his eyes are too invasive. “That’s… sad, Louis. That’s really sad.”

Louis shrugs, willing his emotions at bay like he is so very used to. “It is what it is.”

Harry groans. “No, it’s not. It’s like… it was _made_ to be what it is. Don’t you like, ever think about this place? Of the people? I get it must’ve been awful, the way everything happened, but like…”

Louis puts his cup down on the table with a bit more force than necessary. “No, Harry. You really don’t get what it was like, what it’s been like.”

“Maybe tell me?”

“No, it’s… There’s no point. Our stuff was twelve years ago. We were different then. We’re different now. I honestly don’t feel like having a therapy session about the past twelve years with you, that’s not what I came here to do today.”

Harry straightens his pose. “No, you’re right, it’s not. You came here, _again_ , to attack the community that used to be _your_ community.”

Louis is getting proper annoyed now. “No, I came here today to _fight crime._ To try and make this a better, less violent place. You’ve said yourself, people coming in from the outside are only causing trouble!”

Harry tuts. “Oh please, that’s really fucking rich. You and your _cronies_ came here and look at how violent that was! How much blood was shed!”

“That’s not our fault. We were attacked.”

“I…” Harry waves his hands in the air in a frustrated gesture. “Fine. I just… This is my home. This used to be your home. You’re acting like everyone here is a piece of shit that will never rise up to anything, acting like you’re so much better than everyone here, and that’s not _your_ thinking, and that’s what really pisses me off.”

“You don’t know a single thing about my thoughts.”

Harry stuns silent. “You’re right. I don’t. I know absolutely nothing about your thoughts.”

“Right.”

“I’d like to, though.”

Louis lets out a dry laugh. “I doubt you’d find much to like about them.”

“Even so,” Harry shrugs. “Don’t you want to know anything about my thoughts? You could consider it as, I don’t know, background research. Psychological education. I’m sure it’s part of your police school curriculum.”

It is. Louis looks at Harry, who is trying to seem neutral and calm but even after all these years, he still has the same stilled resoluteness and contained excitement that he had when he was ten years old, and Louis still recognises it. Louis looks down at Pink and Floyd who both seem to stare at him, not menacingly but demandingly – they might be new friends of his but it’s clear who their loyalty lies with.

“What are you suggesting, then?” Louis asks despite already knowing he’ll say yes to anything Harry suggests.

“Just, let me show you _my_ home. Look at my Christiania through my eyes. And tell me about yours. And then, at the end of the day, if we have no common ground we’ll just… nod and depart. But at least we would’ve tried, right?” Harry looks hopeful and slightly vindictive.

“It wasn’t… It was shit, leaving like we did. You were my best best friend, after all,” Louis gives Harry a small smile. “I’d like to know how you’ve been. Like, really been.”

Harry smiles back. “I’d think we kind of… Need to have a wrap. A closure. The last time didn’t really… do us justice.”

Louis coughs.

“Or, to be honest,” Harry searches for his words, “ _I_ need to sort of, figure out if you really are a dickhead or not.”

Louis chuckles at Harry’s bluntness. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It just, bothers me, what happened. I need to know whether to let go of our history and just hate you, or if there’s something worth holding on to.”

Louis can feel a pang in his conscience. “I won’t fit under the floorboard anymore at least, that bit has to go.”

Harry’s eyes glint up mischievously. “That sounds like a challenge to me, Louis.”

Louis smiles, closing his eyes and leaning back on the chair. The sun is warming his face, but a slight breeze has started, to make it more comfortable, not too hot. He can hear at least three different kinds of birds singing on the nearby trees, and something furry is currently nudging its head to his ankle. Louis takes a peek to see it’s Pink. He reaches out, testing, seeing if Pink likes to be a lap cat and picked up, and apparently she does.

“I often wanted to wonder about you,” he tells the cat.

“Wanted to wonder?”

“Yeah,” Louis says and presses his nose to the cat’s neck. She makes a purring sound and sits down tightly on Louis’ lap. “Leaving her just… broke my heart, and I was so worried for so long, but it hurt to think about her and how I just left her, so I tried not to ever think about her.”

Harry frowns. “Didn’t you know we took her?”

“No, just really hoped so,” Louis says sadly. “I thought you’d go over to my place like you did every day, find the note I left you and then find Pink, and take her home and love her.”

Harry smiles. “That’s… pretty much how it went down, yeah.”

“Pretty much?” Louis doesn’t dare to look at Harry, instead he’s focusing his eyes on watching his hands petting Pink.

“You missed the bit where I had a mental breakdown and begged my mum we’d move to your house for a bit so I could sleep in your bed for days.”

Louis grimaces. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t even think of you.”

“I couldn’t think of anything _but_ you.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, looking at Harry. “Guess that’s… very telling of both of us. How we deal with stuff.”

“Guess it is,” Harry agrees. “I’m sure our mums talked though, after you left, and your mum knew we took Pink. Because I vividly remember my mum trying to explain a lot of things about leaving and dying and heartbreak and moving on and making me play this extravagant game where I had to pretend to be a Phoenix bird and rise from the ashes.”

Louis laughs at the vision. That sounds very much like Harry’s mum. “Mum never said anything to me. I didn’t ask though, either.”

“She should’ve told you.”

“Well,” Louis says sharply and drinks the rest of his coffee, “she didn’t. I’m sure she had her reasons.”

Harry looks guilty, rushing to agree. “Yes, of course she did, I didn’t mean…”

Louis waves Harry off to interrupt him. He’s not really in the mood to think about his mum and why she does all the things she does.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Louis says eventually. “Very good. Might’ve turned me into an oat milk fan.”

“My good deed of the day,” Harry sounds delighted.

“You also saved my life today.”

“Alright,” Harry chuckles, “one of my _many_ good deeds of the day.”

Louis looks at Harry, his face with big green eyes and big pink lips. “I bet you do that, though. Try to do at least one good deed a day?”

“Of course I do,” Harry looks horrified at the thought that maybe someone doesn’t. “What would be the point otherwise?”

Louis thinks about it, nodding. “No point, I guess. That’s why I wanted to become a police, you know. Try to help. Give back. Use myself for good and not to just like, be lost and act out.”

Harry seems to want to say something but stops himself, rephrasing. “And do you feel like being a cop allows you that?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods resolutely. “I mean, obviously not the stuff I had to do today, but usually. I guess the better parts of the job don’t really visualise here.”

“Nope,” Harry pops the p. “Remember how we were just pretty much raised to always doubt and be vary of cops? We’d never see them here with good intentions.”

“Raids and trying to get rid of dealer gangs _is_ a good intention, though.”

“I guess. I _know_. It just very rarely happens that way. I’ve never seen a raid that didn’t turn into violence against civilians and innocent bystanders.”

“You’ve seen too many things,” Louis says sympathetically. “Kids here see too many things they shouldn’t.”

Harry nods. “We did.”

Harry seems to get lost in his thoughts and Louis wonders if he remembers the same things he does; the rowdy adults high on drugs on the streets, the violence that broke out daily somewhere, the small kids wandering around looking for their parents or crying next to their parents who just gave no shit, the reigning free love even they as two kids had to run away from occasionally.

“There was so much good though, as well,” Harry then says. “Like learning about important stuff, and how to be a better person, to care for others and not leave anyone behind. Like, when we found Pink, we could’ve easily just… thrown rocks at it. Not give a shit.” He looks at Pink tenderly. “I like the person growing up here made me. I’m not perfect but at least I try my best to be better. Do better.”

Louis smiles fondly. “You always were like that. Even as kids. Going on and on about the war in Iraq and organising that bake sale to help, what was it again?”

Harry laughs. “I think it was to build a new swing.”

When they’d been around nine years old, the old wooden swing in their favourite playground had been burnt down by teenagers. Harry had been furious; not really for himself as he was _big_ now, but seeing the younger kids’ devastation at losing their swing. He’d organise a bake sale, or really it had been a stall on the street in front of their house, to gather funds to go to the local hardware store and buy material for a new swing. He and their mums had been baking different kinds of treats, which Harry then sold tremendously well with Louis acting as a pusher and sales rep, luring people to the stall with his sales yells on the street.

“It’s still up, would you believe?” Harry says proudly. “Can’t believe my biggest accomplishment to date has been something I did thirteen years ago.”

“Let’s go see it, then,” Louis says cheerfully as he picks Pink up from his lap and puts her down as he stands up. “I’m totally taking half of the credit for that swing.”

“Your selling skills were exceptional,” Harry nods. “Though coming to think of it, maybe it was more pity from the buyers.”

“Who cares,” Louis waves his hand. “Pity still gives out real money and real money buys real swings.”

 “I think that’s my absolute favourite part about living here,” Harry notes as they leave, making their way past the leafy gardens, back towards the wooden bridge. “The companionship and the community feel. Like you’re never alone. It gets strenuous sometimes, though. You’re really never alone. Everyone knows you and your business and...” His speech is interrupted by his phone starting to ring. “Case in point,” he sighs to Louis’ laugh as he picks it up. “Hi mum. Yeah, I’m fine. No, Floyd just ran away and… What? He said what? _No_ , I’m not entertaining… It’s Louis. Yeah, Louis Thomsen. I’m not sure if---” Harry looks at Louis. “Sure, I’ll ask. We’re just going for a stroll. Yes, _mum,_ I guess our stroll can go past your house… I’ll ask. Fine. Bye,” he finishes the call and taps the corner of his phone to his lips in deep thought.

“Did you need to ask me something?” Louis offers helpfully.

“Oh!” Harry stirs from his thoughts. “That was mum. Checking up on me if I’m being held as a hostage by a police man. Which was Hans’ take on seeing us, apparently. She invited us for a visit?” Harry looks uncertain. “We don’t have to go.”

Louis beams up a smile. “I’d love to see your parents.”

“Okay,” Harry sighs and taps a text message. “They haven’t really changed so…”

“I’m glad. Your parents are brilliant.”

Harry smiles. “They really are.”

“I just can’t get over that you have a phone. Your _mum_ has a phone.”

“Hey,” Harry flits Louis’ arm. “We have joined the 21st century here, too. Of course we have phones. I have a laptop, come on. Mum obviously needs a phone to check up on me daily.”

“Of course.”

“Plus she’s like, super into Instagram and social media. Uses them to, and I quote, get inspiration for my art and feed my creativity. I think she’s just mainly stealing fashion tips. And plays addictive games.”

“Can’t imagine your dad still has one, no?”

“Oh god no,” Harry laughs. “With how many governments he thinks are spying us through our phones? Sending radiation that has subliminal messages to vote for conservatives? Absolutely not. It’s at least weekly he sits me and mum down and interrogates if our political views have changed.”

“I assume they haven’t?”

“Never,” Harry sounds assured. “Do you… Please tell me you vote.”

“Of course I vote. And _no_ , I don’t vote for right wing.”

Harry throws his hands in the air dramatically, making Louis giggle. “Thank heavens.”

They turn to the right after they’ve crossed the bridge, making their way to where Louis remembers the stables used to be. It’s so eerily peaceful here, not a rock’s throw – touché – away from the central square and where just a few hours ago a violent scene took place. Now it’s all quirky houses and gardens, colourful bikes in front of the houses, garden gnomes and gobbled streets surrounding them. The houses, when Christiania was first built, were all built by residents from all sorts of imaginative material so no two are alike; it has always reminded Louis of the gingerbread house in Hansel and Gretel fairytale.

Seems the stables are still in place, Louis realises as he can hear horses make sounds the closer they get.

“You still scared of horses?” He suddenly asks Harry, remembering something.

“Not these ones,” Harry says quietly as they walk up to the fence, greeting the horses.

There’s a red bucket near the fence, filled with vegetables and a sign to freely feed the horses. Louis picks up a carrot and offers it to a great big black stallion – impressive in size and built, but with very kind eyes.

“That’s called Storm,” Harry tells Louis, watching Louis feed the carrot to the horse as he’s petting a smaller light-coloured pony. “And this is Bonnie.”

“Hello Bonnie,” Louis says friendly to the pony.

“These ones I know, so I’m not scared. I guess seeing a person get stomped by a horse does things to you,” Harry says, shivering at the memory.

Louis wasn’t with Harry that time, they’d been visiting nan but as they came back, Harry told him of how there’d been a huge fight breaking down whilst they’d been away, and police had come in with police horses. One of the horses had gotten panicked and stood up, at the same time kicking a few people around to the ground. Harry had seen it happen and been scared of horses ever since. He’d even told Louis that _unicorns_ were too horse-like for his liking.

They bid the horses farewell and climb up the hill to a ridge. It’s partly surrounded by trees again, but has a small pathway higher up from the ground level, going by the canal side.

“I still love this view,” Louis sighs as he stops, taking in the scenery. He can see the canal, even Harry’s house, and to the other side, the rooftops and skyline of Copenhagen. The golden tip of the spiralled tower of the beautiful nearby Our Savior’s Church is glistening in the sun.

“Me too,” Harry comes to stand next to Louis. “This is my favourite view in the world. It’s so quiet here, away from everything lower down and it just… Makes my soul rest.”

Louis can relate to that. He can _feel_ that.

They pass a couple making out on the lower hill, breathing in the fresh air and not really talking. Finally they get to the backside of Harry’s parent’s house.

“Remember how steep this is?” Harry warns Louis, as the starts to slowly slide down the manmade pathway on the side of the house.

Clearly Louis doesn’t, his boots slipping here and there but somehow he manages to stay up and make it to the door unmuddy and unharmed.

The garden doesn’t seem to have changed much since from when they were children. A wooden family swing has gotten a new coat of orange paint, Harry’s mum has added even more grim garden gnomes and frog statues to her collection, but otherwise it looks the same. Feels familiar.

Harry doesn’t even get a chance to knock on the purple door as it bursts open.

“Louis Thomsen!” Harry’s mum shrieks as she pushes Harry to the side and holds her arms open for Louis.

“Hi Annelise,” Louis smiles and doesn’t even consider nothugging her. Her hair is less black than it used to be, but she smells the same she always did – spicy incense, a familiar aroma she, her home and her son always smelled like. She seems to still wear brightly coloured kaftans.

She hugs Louis for a long time, holds him tightly, and it feels comforting. Louis has always adored Harry’s mum as much as she adored him, and it’s not just a few times Louis had wished his mum to be as _mumsy_ and cool as Annelise. Finally, she loosens her grip and squeezes Louis’ shoulders, as if extending him further to have a proper look.

“You look so handsome,” she tells him softly, her palm open on his cheek. She pulls him to a new hug. “I’m so happy to see you. So happy.”

“I’m really happy to see you, too,” Louis says earnestly.

“Come in, come have a chat and tell me everything about everything,” Annelise urges and suddenly seems to remember her son. “Harry, dear, can you put the coffee on? There’s banana bread somewhere, be a dear and find it.”

“Probably in the fridge where all your stocks of banana bread are,” Harry mumbles under his breath but goes into the kitchen regardless.

“I’ve missed your banana bread so much,” Louis is drooling already. “Glad to hear it’s still your go-to treat for guests.”

“Mum wants to be cremated when she dies and her ashes to be put into banana bread,” Harry says seriously.

Louis chokes. “Uhm.”

Annelise swats Harry’s hand. “Stop telling lies, you pest. You _know_ where I want my ashes to be sprinkled into.”

Louis expects it to be a magical place, somewhere where Annelise can be one with the nature, probably the sea or a mountain or something.

“To my garden,” Harry tells Louis dryly, rolling his eyes. “So she never has to be away from me.” 

Annelise huffs. “You’ll understand one day, when you have kids on your own.”

“Mum…” Harry says, blushing. “I don’t want to particularly think about you dying, please.”

They set up coffee and slice up the banana bread – every bit as delicious as Louis remembered – while exchanging news of how everyone has been.

“I’m not going to ask about what made you decide to be a policeman, Louis,” Annelise says carefully after all the small talk. “I’m sure my son is egging you on about it enough. I don’t necessarily agree with the bad reputation they have here, and I know _you_ , I’ve known you since you were just pooping in your diapers, Louis, and I’m sure you are using your position for good.”

“I try to,” Louis says thankfully, side eyeing Harry who’s staring at a wall.

Annelise plays with her fork, moving the last crumbles of the banana bread on her plate. “With the way you left, I can see how it would… I mean, I don’t necessarily agree with your mother but I can understand her. And that’s so important, trying to understand each other even if we don’t agree on everything.”

“Mum, I don’t think Louis wants…” Harry starts but is interrupted by his mum speaking on.

“Your mum wasn’t ever really into all of this, not really. She was just… so infatuated with your dad, bless him where ever he is, she just followed him here and did it all for him. You should never give up on yourself for anyone, never lose yourself for someone else.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he bites his lip to stop it from starting the tell-tale trembling.

Annelise looks at him softly, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Not for a partner, not for a parent either.”

Louis swallows. “I don’t think… I mean, she did what she thought was best for me and Lukas.”

“I know,” Annelise smiles. “Doesn’t mean our best intentions are always for the best, dear.”

Louis smiles back at her, seeing from his side eye that Harry is biting his nail; a nervous habit he has always had and apparently hasn’t given up yet.

“Right!” Annelise then says briskly and lets go of Louis’ hand. “I need to get ready for my theatre group. I’m sure you two have lots more to talk about.”

Louis and Harry finish their banana breads, and Annelise walks them to the door.

“You are remarkable, Louis. And you will be fine. Happy.” Annelise whispers to Louis as she hugs him tightly for a farewell. “I’ll make a crystal grid for you tonight anyway.”

After they’ve left the house and taken a few steps, Harry starts unsurely. “I’m sorry about mum, she was a bit… intrusive. She shouldn’t have said those things.”

“I love your mum,” Louis blurts out and then checks himself, seeing Harry’s surprised look. “I mean, she’s always been like my second mum. Different from mine, you know. Her words make a lot of sense. She has a pure heart.”

“She does.”

“I didn’t take offence of what she said. I mean, coming from her, it didn’t feel… hurtful. Or attacking.”

“Okay, good,” Harry lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s not like her, or me for that matter, want to like… corner you. You just… don’t seem happy.”

Louis doesn’t know how to reply, doesn’t really want to even consider the question. Instead he just walks on, as they pass the white stoney building with the convenience store, people sitting on the stone edge of the park across it. Kids are playing in the park behind, dogs unleashed bathing in the sun as the groups of people – punks, hippies of all ages – laugh and drink in the sun.

“It’s not any of my business, anyway,” Harry finishes his thought, sounding apologetic.

“It’s fine,” Louis says truthfully, realising he doesn’t mind. “You can ask, you know. Or say what’s on your mind. That’s what we’re trying to today, isn’t it? Get to know each other again. Be honest and all that.”

Harry hums and suddenly remembers something. “Oh!”

Louis stops as well, turning to look at him.

“I, uhm. We just passed my workplace, do you… Would you like to see it?” Harry asks hesitantly.

Louis gleams. “Don’t tell me you work with the pirate man! He is still in the shop, I hope?”

“Sure is,” Harry nods, “but that’s not where I work. It’s the restaurant in the corner, see?” He points to another white brick building, quaint with a white picket fence, on the corner behind the convenience store. The few steps leading to the white door with small window panels are covered with different sizes of flower pots.

“I’m sure you’ve been to a lot more nicer places,” Harry says quietly, sounding like he is already regretting even showing the restaurant Morgenstedet to Louis. “It’s not, uhm, much on the outside, but it’s really nice inside and the food is delicious. And it’s my workplace so don’t like, say it’s rank or anything.”

Louis feels upset hearing how deflated Harry suddenly sounds, as if he’s embarrassed of his job and supporting himself. “Of course not, that place looks real nice!” Louis applauses earnestly. “Seems very you.”

Harry looks a little proud. “It’s a veggie restaurant. Been there for a few years now. We do live gigs, too.”

“Can we go see inside?”

“It’s closed. Closed on Mondays.”

“Oh, alright,” Louis is a little disappointed. “Quite the fluke, considering you had a day off for saving people. How’s your dad taking you working for a competitor?”

“Just glad, I think,” Harry winks. “We barely fit into _our_ kitchen at the same time, we’d never fit into the workplace. He’s happy, he likes the food here. We sometimes have cook-offs with mum buying like, a surprise ingredient around which we need to make a dinner.”

“All three courses?”

“Yup,” Harry nods. “It’s… fun. Hard as fuck, sometimes. One she bought a courgette and it was all fine and dandy up until the dessert.”

Louis frowns. “What can you even make as a dessert out of courgettes?”

“Well, dad made this… foam type of thing. Not his best ideas. And I like, sliced it and covered it in sugar and fried it. Not one of my best ideas either, but definitely better than a foam.”

Louis laughs. “Now you say they’re not your best ideas, but they sound pretty intriguing to me.”

“You should come over for the next one,” Harry says without thinking and then looks like a deer in headlights. “I mean, uhm, if you want. You don’t have to. Don’t be weird. I’m being weird, I’m…”

“Pfft,” Louis waves him off. “I’d really enjoy it, honestly. Thank you.”

Harry tuts. “Listen to us. This all feels so… I don’t know. Official. Like, ‘you are cordially invited to’, and ‘your invitation is much appreciated and courteously accepted’”, Harry mocks with finger quotes. “We’re being awkward.”

“This is a little awkward though, no?” Louis notes. “It’s been, what. Twelve years since we were friends. We were kids and we’re not really who we used to be. Obviously it’s going to be a little, I don’t know, stilted at times. Especially today, considering.”

“I don’t want us to be awkward. Never thought we would be. We were able to talk about everything.”

“We used to _agree_ on everything,” Louis adds heavily. “Though I don’t know if… I don’t think we’d really disagree on like, the most important stuff.”

“What important stuff?”

“Like I’d still definitely marry you,” Louis swears seriously and hip-bumps Harry.

Harry’s laughter sounds lighter and more free than any sound Louis has heard from Harry today. It sounds beautiful, like music he could listen to always.

“Buy me a drink and I’ll consider,” Harry then winks.

“You easy when you’re drunk?”

“You’ll see,” Harry singsongs.

Café Nemoland as a bar is quite dark and dodgy, with a pool table and unisex toilets that make Louis want to hold it in forever with how rank they smell. The beer is cheap though, and the place has a large concrete beer garden in front of it. Big wooden blue and red tables are laid out, and there’s a stage where Louis remembers having watched local big name bands perform on summer nights of his childhood. The place is starting to gather crowds; locals invading the tables closer to the actual bar building and hipster tourists in the further tables, coughing as they inhale their joints. Louis wants to laugh at an Asian group of elderly tourists with chunky cameras hanging from their necks. They look robbable and also are heavily breaking another very important Christiania rule – no photos.

“Think I’m going to go talk to them,” he mutters to Harry as they find a seat, placing their moist beer glasses down. Louis can’t wait to taste the cold amber gold on this what has definitely been a very strange first day on the field. A very strange day on his life, really.

Harry takes a sip of his beer and looks at the Asian group under his eyelids. “Don’t bother.”

“What? Why?” Louis is annoyed. “They’re like, asking for trouble. It’s not safe for them!”

Harry licks his lips, getting a bit of the foam off. “See that guy who’s with them? The tall, thin guy?”

Louis sees him; he’s wiry and tall, dressed in all black with ripped tight jeans and black Doc Martens. “Yeah?”

“That’s Edgar. He’s one of the local guides and he’s like, epic. A legend. Looks like he would snap in two like a twig but no one gets at him, or at his groups. They’re totally safe.”

Louis nods approvingly, feeling more at ease about both the tourists being safe and hearing that Harry wasn’t just being uncaring about fellow people’s safety.

They sit in the sun, having a few pints and reminiscing about their childhood adventures lightly. Harry updates Louis on the places and people from when they were younger and their whereabouts now, telling him about a few favourite playtime places that have been bulldozed down or made into something different.

Occasionally, their conversation gets interrupted by a few people coming over to Harry – to say hi and, without fail, ask if Floyd is ok. Seems the word got around that there’d been a dog in distress earlier on the day. They give Louis a curious look, and as Harry introduces him as ‘my old friend Louis’, break into a smile and shake his hand, exchanging a few friendly words. Harry goes into elaborate stories about each of the people as they leave them be. He’s truly excellent at story telling, Louis can’t understand why he’d be so shit at interpretive theatre.

It’s August, so the evening turns darker earlier. They share a bowl of fries, and the salt and grease hitting Louis’ body feels like one of the best meals he has ever had.

“This was good,” Louis says sated, wiping his mouth. “This whole day has been good.”

Harry gives him a funny look.

“I mean,” Louis rushes to explain, “after. You know. After we ran for it.”

“It has, hasn’t it,” Harry says amused. “It’s been good. You’ve been good.”

“You’ve been good, too,” Louis smiles back at Harry, voice sounding annoyingly soft in his own ears.

“Might get a little bad now,” Harry says conspiratorially, “if you promise not to arrest me?”

“Not sure I would have the authority to, after disarming myself today,” Louis muses and then goes back to what he really wanted to know. “Bad how?”

Harry looks around him dramatically and then pulls out a joint from his chest pocket. “You mind?”

Louis blinks. Of course he doesn’t mind. “Not if you share. I’m not like, adverse to a bit of green every now and again.” Though maybe he should be, considering being a police. Ex-police. Police in training. Whatever. “You think police don’t wind down ever?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says as he lits up the spliff, letting the paper burn first before he inhales, holding the smoke in his lungs. “I don’t exactly have extensive insight to the internal life of a cop,” he says as he lets out a long exhale. He inhales again, then offers the joint to Louis.

“Normal people, right?” Louis notes as he takes a smoke. “That’s what you’re doing today, isn’t it? Trying to show me people here are just, normal people.”

“I guess.”

“So, maybe, I could show you that police are just the same. Normal people.”

“With exceptions.”

“With exceptions,” Louis nods. “Like every group of people.” He takes another puff, handing the spliff back to Harry. “Or maybe you and I are the exceptions.”

“Maybe.”

Louis chuckles. “I can’t believe you’re just, sitting here in the beer garden and smoking weed.”

Harry feigns shock, as if he’d just been caught red-handed. He makes a show out of looking around them. “You’re right. Shit. We’re the only ones. Everyone’s watching us. Disapproving what thugs we are.”

Louis looks around as well, taking in the pleasant summer night with sun already setting, groups of different people scattered around the beer garden, not paying one bit of attention to him and Harry. “Ha ha. Funny.”

Harry pokes his tongue out at him and Louis fights the urge to flick it.

“I mean, you gave me such a bollocking that one time,” Louis then continues good-humouredly but  stops immediately after, wanting to kick himself.

Harry’s smile has wavered, and he looks like he has physically just gotten a little smaller, withdrew to himself.

\--

_It’s a dark evening, definitely past the mum-approved curfew – but Louis is 16, he’s with a group of the coolest guys in his high school, who for some reason think he’s dope. Louis tries to focus on the feeling of both mental and physical high; looking at the guys around him, yelling and jumping as they make their way towards the beer garden in the middle of Christiania._

_The place gives Louis the creeps. He can feel goosebumps, not the good kind, increase the closer they get to whatever the bar’s name was. Flashbacks of going around frantically from a table to table as a kid, looking for his dad, sometimes also looking for his mum, are filling Louis’ mind. He tries to shake them off._

_“And people actually live here?” Anders, a tall blond guy whose parents have a pool in their house, squeals. “How insane!”_

_Louis, obviously, has never told his new friends this used to be his home. He couldn’t take the ridicule, not when he is finally fitting in and has found a group of friends; with his mum finally off his back, complaining about how he should go out and act normal._

_Louis chortles thinking that yeah, mum, now he definitely is living like a normal teenager. He takes another swig from his can of beer._

_Someone jumps on his back. “This is so cool, Louis, can’t believe we can just walk in and get high and drunk and no one gives a fuck!”_

_They’d stock up on a few different beats from the stalls at Pusher Street, money not being an issue for most of his friends. They were dressed to impress, rich kids with their parents’ money, thinking they owned the world._

_They find a free table and the four of them crowd around it, lighting up their joints. One of them, Louis isn’t sure who, cat calls a group of girls a few tables further. One of the girls flips off, earning a rude curse back at her._

_Louis puts down the plastic bag, containing their beer cans, down on the table and looks around. Fairy lights are hanging everywhere and two dogs are playing, barking happily, not too far from them._

_“Fuck off, mutts!” Tom, a short, wide-built guy from their friend group yells at the dogs. He downs his  drink, crashes the can in his hand and throws it towards the dogs._

_Anders whistles. “Give you a 100 krones if you actually hit one.”_

_Tom laughs and takes a full can now, aiming it as if he were throwing basketball, and throws. It doesn’t hit either of the dogs, luckily, but it hits the ground with such force that the can breaks and beer bursts out, making a mess and hitting the dogs._

_“Hey,” Louis snaps, “cut it out.”_

_“Ooh,” Anders coos, “looks like someone is worried for the dogs! Woof, woof!” he barks out ridiculously like the idiot he is, Tom joining him._

_Louis feels his insides get colder. “I’m not… Just don’t want to waste beer, that’s all.”_

_Luckily a pair of giggling girls, tall and blonde and pretty, approach their table at the same time, making the guys leave the dogs alone._

_Anders puts on his best charmer gear and starts chatting up the girls. Obviously the girls are after both beers and attention, to which Louis’ friends happily comply._

_They’re all quite wasted after an hour or so, one of the girls making out with Tom under the table and Louis knows enough about fingering to realise what’s really happening under the table. Jonny, who clearly doesn’t have the most developed stamina, is dozing off by the table. He’s holding the still-burning joint, nodding off. Louis doesn’t pay him much more attention after feeling confident that he still actually breathes._

_Not until he hears running steps and a loud shout coming at them._

_“What the fuck’s going on here?” A young guy runs to them, sounding both mad and scared._

_Louis shakes off his state of blissful intoxication and sees rather high flames coming up from a table behind them. It seems to have caught fire from the joint Jonny had carelessly tossed out behind his back._

_“Hey hey hey,” Anders puts on his dickiest voice. “We’re having a party, chill out, weirdo.”_

_“You’re fucking setting the place on fire, party boy!” The guy’s voice is so angry._

_And somehow so familiar._

_Louis turns to have a proper look and fuck him, of course it’s Harry. Harry in his skinny jeans, weird black mesh top, and apparently he wears black nail polish these days too. He’s wearing some kind of a scarf thing in his head, and his hair is almost reaching his shoulders. Their eyes meet and Harry’s eyes widen at recognition. Louis shakes his head in what he hopes is a clear but understated gesture, only meant for Harry._

_“Louis?” Harry says, totally missing the mark._

_The other guys turn to stare at Louis, flabbergasted. “You know this loser?” Tom asks, finally making his way from under the table, the girl following suit whilst wiping her lips. “Louis?” Tom asks again._

_“We, uhm. Used to know each other, yeah.”_

_“Didn’t know you used to hang out in clown school,” Jonny mocks, earning laughs from the other guys._

_“Come on, guys, it was ages ago!” Louis tries to defend himself, carefully avoiding looking at Harry._

_“A lifetime ago, clearly,” Harry says, voice full of venom. “You’re the real clowns here, coming from the outside, keeping up the drug business, do you have any fucking idea how much damage it does? How much it harms us? Supporting the drug gangs? You fucking idiots. And now you’re burning this whole place down!”_

_Louis looks behind him, seeing the table has almost burned down but the flames don’t seem to spread. Harry catches his eyes, mouthing ‘help’ silently. Louis rummages through their plastic bag, but there’s nothing but beer cans there._

_Someone comes running from the building to their side, Louis reckons it used to be a vegetable market kind of a place. The man, dressed in what seems to be a cook’s outfit, is balancing two buckets of water in both hands. They look heavy and water is spilling._

_“Fucking kids,” he yells at them as he goes to put the remaining fire out._

_“Right, that was fun,” Anders says and rubs his hands together. “This place is full of clown fags, let’s get the hell out of here before he jumps all over us.”_

_“What did you say?” Harry is staring at Anders. He’s a head shorter than Anders, Louis notices as Anders walks up to stare Harry down._

_“I,” he starts poking Harry’s chest with his index finger, “said” – poke “fag” – poke. “What you gonna do about it, little cocksucker?” Anders pushes Harry to the ground and laughs. “I’m done, let’s leave.”_

_Louis feels like his lungs have shut down and he can’t breathe. He can’t look at Harry on the ground, luckily unhurt it seems, as he leaves with the guys._

_It’s weird how though he never looked, he’s forever unable to forget the sight._

\--

Louis coughs. “I really wish I could forget that. Or, really, I wish it never would’ve happened. I don’t… There’s no justification for being such a dickhead.”

“You’re not going to blame it on being a teenager?” Harry asks dryly.

Louis pulls an appalled face. “Fuck no. Being a teenager doesn’t mean being a dick. It was a shit thing that happened and, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to like, overcome it. I think it’s one of the biggest regrets I’ve ever had in my life, not saying anything.”

Harry smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll have bigger regrets.”

“No, but like… That was you. Those guys were absolute wankers, and they came at you and I… let them. And I’m so sorry.” Louis tries to catch Harry’s eyes, but he seems to be avoiding Louis.

“I was so hurt by it. By how you didn’t even, like, you were just laughing at me. Didn’t stand up for me. Sure, we were strangers by that time I guess but it’s like… You were my best friend, and I trusted you with everything and you just… Totally disregarded that. Shit move, Louis.”

“I know,” Louis swallows. The memory comes to him always out of the blue, hits him suddenly, and he’s pretty sure Harry’s face with hurt and sadness is carven into his brain forever. “Can’t undo it. Would if I could. And I wouldn’t… That’d never happen again.”

“How do you know, though? You can’t know that.”

“I can just, try my best I guess. I think my best would be to never allow that to happen to you again, ever.”

Harry stares at Louis, frowning, and finally his expression softens. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I forgive you.”

“You do?” Louis feels like an invisible burden, a stone he’s been carrying for years now is finally lifted.

Harry nods. “I do. You were an idiot kid surrounded by more idiot kids and, I don’t agree with it but I can understand it. Or like, not understand-understand as seriously you should know better, but it seems like you do know better now. Just don’t fuck it up again or I’ll leash my hound on you.”

“Oh no, not your _hound_ ,” Louis mock-shrieks in fear. “I absolutely cannot deal with an overdose of cuteness!”

“Shut up,” Harry laughs and nudges Louis’ foot with his under the table. “We all fuck up. Just need to learn from it.”

“That’s… Thank you. Means the world to me, Harry.”

They cheers their pints to that, both taking big gulps.

“Also,” Harry says as he lowers his pint to the table, “I am. Gay. Specifically gay, not a fag.”

“Okay,” Louis smiles.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Louis repeats. “You’re gay. Cool. Good for you. Guys are great.”

“They are?” Harry sounds incredulous.

“Sure,” Louis takes a sip again. “I’m one, after all.”

“You mean you’re also a guy or…”

Louis chuckles. “Catch up, Harry. I mean I am, too.” It feels so weird, especially in how it is completely _not_ weird, to say it so openly and honestly and it’s… Not a big deal.

“Oh,” Harry finally catches on. “So do you have like, a partner? Not the police kind.”

“Nope,” Louis shakes his head. “I’m not really feeling that stuff, not right now. Just want to have a bit of fun when I can. Like, mutual fun, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Louis doesn’t mention how he’s unlikely to ever feel like having a partner, letting someone so close, sharing his life which even to him is such an unclear lump of barely powering through in haziness. He doesn’t tell Harry how his mutual fun really is just one-night stands with nameless faces, seeing them leave his place and feeling thankful to be alone again. But a part of his _wants_ to mention it to Harry, and it’s a bit of scary realization.

“You feel a little lonely,” Harry tells him softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Is it a choice or…”

“I’m not sure,” Louis answers honestly, surprised by Harry’s insightfulness but not intimidated by it. “Feels safer like that.”

“Does your mum know?”

“What, that I’m lonely?”

“No, that you’re not straight.”

Louis lets out a dry laugh. “As if. She’d probably disown me.”

Harry frowns. “Surely not.”

“She absolutely would. At first at least, and not for a long time. Then she’d probably just, try to match me with the most proper girls she could find and tell me it’s just a phase, and I would… Agree to her face. Or not like, agree that it’s a phase, probably like keep on doing what I’ve done this far.”

“What have you done this far, then?” Harry tries to sound nonchalant, taking a gulp of his beer.

“Just… avoided it. Said romance or relationships aren’t in my radar right now, if she asks. She doesn’t ask that often, anymore. I reckon she might sense it, you know. She’s putting on an accepting façade and just disapproving hard underneath.”

“That’s awful, Louis,” Harry tries to reach out to squeeze Louis’ hand, but Louis pulls it away under the pretend of lifting his beer.

“I’m used to it,” he shrugs. “And it doesn’t really matter, not really, with me being alone anyway. Not like she’d ever need to come in terms or face to face with a boyfriend or anything.”

“Don’t say that,” Harry says sympathetically, looking at Louis with his head to the side. “Surely you want like… a family, one day. Kids.”

“I don’t know,” Louis mumbles.

“You used to. You told me. You _promised_ me,” Harry is trying to be playful but it sounds a little too heavy to brush off with a laugh.

“I was ten, Harry. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to bring up my kids here.”

“Me neither.”

Louis is surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Harry nods. “I don’t think this is necessarily… the best place for kids to grow up. We’ve seen too much. Stuff kids should never have to see. I mean, it has a lot of good but I don’t think I’d want my kids to grow up smelling hash everywhere and learning to hate the police and to have sex and do drugs when they’re way too young.”

“But I thought… Like, you’re so up in arms with this place.”

“It’s my home, of course I am! I’ve never said it’s a paradise, come on Louis, I just… Want to kind of shake you, I don’t know. You forgot where you’re from and act like you’re better than everyone here. Better than me. And it makes me feel like shit.”

“ _You_ are way better than me.”

“I’m not, truly. And it’s like…” Harry wrings his hands. “It’s never been about being better than each other. We’re _both_ good, and that’s the important bit.”

Harry’s right, Louis knows. He has raised himself higher up, tried to distract and disengage with being a Christiania kid – maybe it started from his mum, but he hasn’t fought against it for many years either.

“Also, just to go back to my unwavering logic,” Harry continues, aiming to lighten up the mood. “Me smoking weed is different from you guys coming here. I am local, _and_ I get my weed from local growers, so it’s totally different.”

Louis laughs. “Of course. Supporting your local farmers, right?”

“Exactly. I’m not a thug from outside who comes here and causes havoc and disorder. I’m just a boy who likes organic stuff and shops sustainably.” Harry looks very proud of himself.

“You should be very proud of yourself,” Louis nods and goes to get them another round of drinks.

They’re a few more beers in when Harry suddenly slams his hand on the table.  

“Oh shit!” Harry yelps and gets up in haste. “I completely forgot!”

“Forgot what?” Louis is worried, thoughts of coffee machines left on and burning homes and dead pets crossing his mind.

“The swing!” Harry beams. “Forgot to show you the best thing in Christiania.”

Louis smiles. “The best?”

“For sure,” Harry nods convincingly. “That swing is… not just an ordinary swing. It’s like, a statue, really, a show of effort of what people can achieve when they work together for common good. That’s such an epitome of this place.”

“It was really all you,” Louis says fondly. He reminisces back to a kid-Harry, thinking of what he could achieve when he put his mind to it, when he was driven by the purity of his heart and his will to give back, to do good.

He almost doesn’t dare to think of what this adult-Harry could do, could create with the evidently still-present pureness of his heart. He’s a bit brilliant.

“Wasn’t all me. Had you to support me,” Harry says quietly as he pulls Louis’ earlobe – a habit he used to do when they were kids and when Harry was either thinking Louis was silly or being a menace. It still feels nice, but Louis turns his head away groaning.

It’s a part of the whole song and dance.

They grab their drinks to go and head to the backstreets behind the bar, leading towards the bridge, pathway sided by the hilly ridge. Harry seems to know his way around even in the darkness. He leads them to the park and to the swing, and honestly? It still looks like great fun. Very solid. Well built. Like it has stood the test of time and hasn’t given up. Louis hopes the swing isn’t the only one.

“Think it can still take us?” Louis asks Harry as he sits on one of swings. It feels sturdy.

“We built it. It can take anything,” Harry says trustingly as he sits next to Louis on another swing.

“Haven’t done this in years,” Louis says, voice full of childlike wonder as he starts to draw back with his feet, ready to gain speed and lift his legs up from the ground. With his first swing ahead, it feels like he’s never done anything but. It’s in his muscle memory, the breeze on his face, the vague feeling of flying – maybe he’s not as small of a bird or flying as high as he used to, but the sense of freedom and like he’s letting go (despite holding onto the chains, his knuckles white) feels like a welcome respite from everything.

“Feels like flying,” Harry says next to him, gaining speed and waving his legs around as he flies up. “Like freedom. Don’t have a worry in the world right now.”

This sounds perplexing to Louis. “You have worries? _You?_ Just, seems to me like you don’t have a care in the world!”

“I’ll have you know I have a lot of worries. Big ones. Smaller ones.”

“Like what?” Louis glances to his side at Harry, who has a frown on his face, apparently thinking about all his many worries.

“Like…” Harry slows down his pace, feet hitting the ground, until his swing has come almost still. “Is this world going to blow up before my kids get to see their kids have kids. If I’ll ever even have kids. If Floyd is ever going to get ticks, because I really _really_ do not want to deal with that. I worry about what my mum gets me and dad as a surprise ingredient the next time. Wonder if I’ll ever be happy.”

Louis feels a pang somewhere in his chest. “You’re not… You’re not happy?”

Harry shrugs. “I guess. I mean, like, I’m everyday happy. I like my work and my home and, the things I do and the people I know but… I don’t know if I’m like, the happiest happy I could be, you know? If I’m really where I’m supposed to. What I’m supposed to be.”

“I’m… That sucks.” Louis has a strange emotion, empathy stronger than he has ever felt. The thought of Harry ever being not-his-happiest just… makes him sad. So sad that he feels very strongly that he would like to do everything in his power to always make sure Harry is the happiest. Louis reckons it might make _him_ the happiest, too.

“A bit, yeah,” Harry sighs. “I don’t know, I always thought that I’d like… become something. Not like famous or anything, but I honestly did think I could like, make a change. Improve the world.”

“You still have plenty of time.”

“I’m just not sure of like… I don’t know. Like where I should go or what I should do.”

“God, I know that feeling,” Louis lets out a slow sigh. “I don’t know if I have a job to go to tomorrow. Or if I even have a job I really want to do.”

Harry gives him a concerned look. “But you were so keen on being a police not long ago? Wanting to help people? I mean, regardless of what I think about the institution in general, I don’t want to like… rain on your parade. Or be on the way between what you really want to do, even if it’s not what I’d want.”

“No, no, this isn’t about you at all,” Louis rushes to convince Harry but then quiets down. “Or maybe, a little. Not like in a bad way, but you just made me think about stuff I try really hard not to think about. I’m like this swing, really,” Louis has an epiphany as he pats the chain and looks up at the top bar. “I have a sense of being free and doing exactly what I want, going higher and higher but. I’m really just doing what people tell me. What they instruct me to do.” He mulls over his words, realising how true they are and how much he _feels_ them right now. He buries his face to his hands to regain his composure. “It’s like my life isn’t really mine. Hasn’t been in a long time. And I just try to make myself think that it is.”

“I know,” Harry says lowly. “I feel the same. I mean, my life is good, it could be worse, it just… Feels like I’m stuck in a life that was given to me and I wasn’t ever expected to do anything else.”

“Police academy was mum’s idea,” Louis confesses. “After we left, she just… Changed. Became so conservative and so concerned about what other people thought and like, it was suffocating. I mean, she’s my mum and I love her but she just…” He doesn’t know how to finish, and Harry doesn’t seem to expect him to.

They sit in a companionably mopey silence in the dark night for a long moment, until Louis suddenly chuckles and breaks the spell.

“Jesus, Harry, listen to us. So young and so sad. And it’s not like… I mean, yeah it feels like a huge struggle to figure shit out but. It doesn’t have to. Or, I guess it always _is_ a struggle but seriously. We’re twenty-two. We’re good people. We can do this.”

Harry seems empowered. “Hell yes we can!”

“Maybe this is how it was all supposed to go,” Louis thinks out loud. “Like having to do the raid on my first day and then, I don’t even know what happened to me, but then you were there and. This feels important, today. Like we were supposed to find each other.”

Harry looks at him, his eyes drilling through Louis again. “Maybe we were,” he finally says and smiles softly.

Harry gets up from his swing and comes to stand in front of Louis, offering his hands to pull Louis up. Louis takes them, his palms feeling clammy from having held onto the metal chain for so long. He stands up to Harry who is so pretty and he’s smiling at him and.

Louis leans in, as if pulled in by some magnetic magic, not really thinking, just feeling, wanting to feel Harry’s lips.

And Harry turns his head away, Louis’ kiss landing awkwardly on Harry’s cheek.

“Don’t kiss me,” Harry whispers.

“Sorry, I… Don’t know what got into me,” Louis starts and then backpedals. “No, that’s not true. You got into me. I’m still sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Harry turns his face to Louis again. At least he doesn’t look angry, or disgusted, more like…

Harry looks sad. A realization hits Louis.

“Shit, sorry, of course, I should’ve asked, I just assumed… You’ve probably got someone, of course you do.”

Harry puts his hand on Louis’ arm. “No, it’s not… It’s not that. And I don’t.”

A fleeting moment of relief starts at the top of Louis’ head, travelling all the way down to his toes.

“I just don’t want to be, like, another tourist sight or a ride at Tivoli. It’s been a day, Louis, one day, and it’s been so good but it just. I don’t want you to use me as something recyclable, or try me out. I don’t want to be a part of this one-off fun experiment.”

“You’re not,” Louis swears and even if he doesn’t know where the certainty is coming from, he certainly trusts it.

“I don’t know anything about you.”

“ _I_ don’t know anything about me. Or about you. But I’d like to found out. With you,” Louis doesn’t even care if his voice sounds a little pleading; at least he’s being open and honest, a rare treat.

Harry is biting his lip, staring at the ground, then to Louis’ feet, and finally to Louis’ eyes. He reaches out his hands, carefully taking Louis’ into his and lightly brushing their fingertips together.

“Okay,” he lets out a breath and smiles. “I think that’d be… nice. Really nice.” He squeezes his hand to Louis’. Harry looks downs at their hands for a bit and then laughs, nervously. “I don’t know what to do now. Like, how to go on about this.”

Louis rubs a circle on the top of Harry’s palm – Harry’s hands feel a little sweaty as well – hoping it’d send calming vibes. “Uhm, I think, just… What would you _want_ to do?”

Harry sighs, sounding a little apologetic. “That’s the thing, Louis. Last thing I want to do is fuck this up with like, rushing into something head first and then getting burned, but… I don’t want today to end. I don’t want to stop having fun with you and I don’t want it to be tomorrow and then suddenly it’s like, back to being strangers.”

Louis frowns. “What, you think I’d just, love you and leave you? That today was fun, thanks, but come tomorrow and you won’t hear from me again?”

Harry looks down, moving some gravel with the tip of his shoe. “I… I don’t know. You could. I hope you wouldn’t.”

“I won’t,” Louis shakes his head, certain. “I promise you I won’t. If this all goes to shit, then it does, but it’s not… It won’t be because we didn’t try our best.”

A small smile finally forms on Harry’s face as he looks back to Louis. “Is that a deal? We’ll both try our best?”

“Our _very_ best,” Louis nods solemnly.

Harry nods back. “Okay. I think… I can work with that.” He pulls Louis into a hug; it’s cautious, it could be tighter and last longer, but it’s warm and sincere, and it’s Louis’ favourite hug he has ever gotten.

They walk back to Harry’s house in comfortable silence, and Louis thinks for the umpteenth time that this truly has been a really fucking strange day, but it might also be one of the best days he’s ever had.

Floyd and Pink bounce at them as they walk through the door, and they take Floyd outside for his evening wee.

Louis could get used to this, is the thing. Could get used to coming home to this bunch. He isn’t sure where from he would be coming home to, or where the home would be located, but it feels like those would be mere details to sort out.

He watches Harry tell Floyd off for having barked at a little bunny he’d seen under one of the bushes, scaring the hopper away. Louis feels happy, hopeful, as they go back inside.

“I’m just, uhm, going to leave the window open,” Harry makes himself busy with opening all the windows as Louis strips down to his underwear and settles for bed. “It gets boiling.”

“Maybe we should just sleep naked, then,” Louis suggests jokingly.

Harry stares him down, making a scene out of taking off his pants but changing to a white vest, before he too wiggles between the sheets. “I don’t bend that way. Not on the first night.”

Harry leaves a bit of space between them, but his hand is next to Louis, and his skin is radiating warmth all over Louis. He turns onto his side, facing Louis, looking at him with a bright spark in his eye.

“Didn’t you say you were easy when you’re drunk?” Louis winks.

“Nooo,” Harry drawls out, “I said you’ll _see_ if I’m easy. Newsflash, I’m not.”

Louis hums. Harry’s still looking at him, and the closeness feels impossibly…. close. Intimate. Louis has never been much of a toucher, he doesn’t really like to touch or be touched, but there’s a strand of hair on Harry’s cheek. Louis reaches out his finger, testing. Harry’s breath hitches but he doesn’t say anything, following Louis’ finger as Louis softly brushes the loose curl behind Harry’s ear. The gesture makes Harry smile, and he leans up to brush his lips over Louis’ cheek.

“Did you know,” Harry’s voice is a little hoarse, “that apparently people who grow up together rarely end up together?”

Louis weighs the words. “So childhood sweethearts are practically impossible, is that what you mean?”

“I guess. We stopped growing up together early, though.”

“I think,” Louis says, brushing another strand of Harry’s hair and wiggling his toes against his, “that we didn’t really stop. We just… took a break. So we can grow up together now.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’d like that, too,” Louis says before a yawn takes over. The bed is soft, warm but not overbearingly, and as Harry turns the nightlamp off, Louis finds himself drifting to sleep quickly.

In the morning, Louis’ deep dreamless sleep is rudely interrupted by a demanding phone ringtone, which doesn’t ever finish but seems to get louder.

“Floyd, be quiet,” Harry mumbles in his sleeps as he turns around.

Louis finally locates his phone, tucked away in the pile of his officer clothes on the floor. He notices missed calls from his mum, and at least three different text messages, before he picks up the call. “Hello?” he says, trying to sound awake, as he takes the call outside.

After finishing the call, Louis comes back inside to be met with the heavenly smell of coffee. Floyd is rolling around in Harry’s unmade bed and Pink is circling Louis’ feet. Harry has his back turned to Louis, hovering around the kitchenette counter, slicing cucumber judging by the smell. Louis walks next to him and decides on just placing his hand softly on Harry’s shoulder as a form of greeting. Harry still flinches.

“Hey you,” Louis smiles, catching himself acting like he would towards a skittish animal.

Harry’s face melts into a shy smile. “Good morning,” he leans his side to Louis’ as a light hug. “Did you get a yelling?”

“No, I don’t think so. They want me to come in, to have a chat. I think it’s more like… they’re not mad but worried, I guess. Concerned if I’ve got what it takes,” Louis shrugs as he takes a piece of cucumber from the cutting board and pops it into his mouth.

“Have you? Got what it takes?” Harry’s voice sounds light but his shoulders are tense.

“I don’t know,” Louis says earnestly. “I think I’ll just go and see what happens. Go with my gut instinct.”

Harry nods and puts the knife down, turning so he can pull Louis into a tight hug. They stand like that for quite some time, in Harry’s small kitchenette, holding onto each other tightly – so tightly that Louis can feel Harry’s chest rise and lower with his breathing.

Annelise’s words from the previous day come to Louis’ mind. _Never give up on yourself for anyone._ Louis is starting to feel sure that he’d never have to give up on anything of himself for Harry, if not free willingly. Instead, he would find himself more, be supported, and he knows he would never want Harry to change for anything he didn’t aspire to be.

Harry says something but his voice comes out all muffled, as his lips are pressed on Louis’ neck.

“Hmm?”

“I’d like that kiss now,” Harry whispers.

\---

They don’t bring up their kids in Christiania.

Instead, they move to another green and leafy – not like _that_ – area in Copenhagen, into a home that later is filled with kids and cats and dogs.

One day, years later when the kids have all moved out and both of their hair is more grey than brown, after neither would be able to run very fast not because they want to avoid panic but because they want to avoid a stroke, Louis hears that the Smurf house in Christiania has become vacant. He tells this to Harry, says that this is still a time when they are in love, and laughs at Harry who doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

They decide against getting a pet goat, though.  


End file.
